


Heavy Hearts and City Warmth

by nomadichead



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomadichead/pseuds/nomadichead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city keeps all of their best secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Hearts and City Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this long before American Beauty/American Psycho was released. But the song just seemed to fit perfectly so there you have it. I hope you enjoy reading.

_There's a room in a hotel in New York City_  
_That shares our fate and deserves our pity._

Twin Skeletons (Hotel In NYC)  
  
-  
  
Pete presses his cheek against the window pane, glass icy against his skin. He watches as his breath leaves condensation, blurring the lights of the city below into a kaleidoscope of colours. The sheets around Pete's waist itch, still sticky with sweat and come.  
  
They’re in a hotel room somewhere in New York, wrapped in white cotton and their own lies.  
  
He can hear his companion stirring but he can’t tear his eyes from the lights that are threatening to blind him. Like stars and fireflies and a million other metaphors for deception. Pete’s fingers twitch against his side, desperate to explore and to know. Desperate to paint the city. He doesn’t startle when a pair of hands smooth down his back, familiar enough with the other presence to not be surprised. Friend. Lover. Secret. Pete traces his own eyes in the reflection in the glass and wonders how much pressure it would take to shatter.  
  
  
“The bed got cold.”  
  
  
The words are hot on his neck, breath followed by the press of lips against his skin. The sheets drop to the floor as his hands cover the ones now at his hips. Pete notes the contrast of tan on white, pale porcelain and fading ink, before looking out again. Everything is red and yellow and orange and warm. So alive in the city that never sleeps and Pete likes the romance of it. The idea that in this place, no heart is ever alone on a dark night, an empty home, in the corners of his dreams.  
  
  
The lips move from his neck to his ear, sucking on the fleshy lobe before biting down softly. Pete sighs, the condensation that had faded away reprinting itself in a constant pattern, like a heartbeat. He glances towards the sky once more before twisting in the embrace he’s held in, meeting a pair of heavy-lidded eyes.  
  
  
“What’s out there?”  
  
Patrick asks the question in earnest, searching Pete’s expression, although Pete isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Isn't sure what he has to offer.  
  
  
“Warmth, people, light, music, words. Life.”  
  
  
Patrick leans forward, lips capturing Pete's, swallowing the words and rolling them around his mouth. Tasting the wistfulness, the pure want in Pete's voice. He pulls away fast and the older man keeps his eyes closed, breathing laboured.  
  
  
“I want it all, Patrick. All of it.”  
  
  
And neither of them needs to say anymore, Patrick doesn’t need to ask to know what Pete is actually saying. _Show it to me._ Their fingers lace together and their lips meet again, Pete’s tongue tracing Patrick's lower lip almost desperately. The younger man grants him entrance, moaning softly as their tongues meet and teeth clash. They stumble backwards, falling on to the bed when Patrick’s knees hit the mattress. The kiss breaks as they land and the singer looks up at the other man, tracing his finger across swollen lips. Pete flicks his tongue out, taking two of Patrick’s fingers into his mouth and sucking. Hard. Patrick arches up, groaning at the wet heat.  
  
Once Pete releases him, he ushers Patrick further up the bed and they both end up lying face-to-face against the pillows. The lights from outside flicker across Pete's face and he closes his eyes against the glare. He hates this. Hates the secrets and the what-ifs. What if someone found out? What would the world say? What would happen to the band?  
  
  
What if they fell in love?  
  
  
When he opens his eyes again, Patrick is looking at him, a small frown playing on his face. Pete surges forward, sucking at Patrick's bottom lip before nipping it with his teeth. His heart hammers almost painfully against his ribs and the soft sound of traffic and laughter serenades them and all Pete can think is _staywithmestaywithstaywithme, forever._  
  
  
A moan rumbles deep in Patrick’s chest and then he’s climbing over, hooking his feet around Pete’s ankles and straddling his thighs. He runs a hand down the skin of Pete's chest, dragging over the ring of thorns, thumbs catching on his nipples, causing the older man to arch up off the bed. He wants this. He wants this beautiful boy so badly that it makes his heart ache because sometimes it’s all he can do not to touch. When the cameras disappear and the curtain goes down and it’s just the two of them, the layers finally gone. Skin on skin. Heart on heart. Soul on soul. Sometimes it’s all Patrick can do not to cry.  
  
  
Pete stills beneath him, eyes closed and panting. Patrick leans forward, this time taking one of Pete’s nipples into his mouth and rolling his tongue around the hard bud. Pete whines, hips bucking up and Patrick grinds his own down to meet him. He can feel fingers tangle in his hair, tugging Patrick back and crashing their lips together, too desperate to ask permission.  
  
  
“Patrick please, please.”  
  
  
Pete's voice is rough, laced with need and want and Patrick thrusts against him, finding a rhythm, skin slick as they slide together. It isn’t long till Patrick feels a familiar heat pool in his abdomen, pleasure twisting inside him as Pete sucks a bruise into the skin of his neck before moving to pant wetly in his ear.  
  
  
“More, 'Trick. Need more. Need you inside me.”  
  
  
Patrick moans brokenly in reply as Pete's hips stop pushing up. The loss of contact makes the erection between Patrick’s legs throb and he’s so hard it’s painful. He kisses Pete once, twice, light pecks scatttered across cheeks and nose and lips before fumbling to reach for the lube and condoms. It doesn’t take long to find them and Pete hums at the sound of Patrick opening the bottle. His eyes trace the room they’re in, so white and polished and put together. It smells of sex and sour sweat and he thinks that maybe they can’t touch anything pure without tainting it. Patrick’s slick fingers press against his entrance and then Pete doesn’t think anything.  
  
  
It doesn’t take long for Patrick to work one finger inside, crooking and stilling and sliding in-and-out for a moment before adding a second. It passes in easily, Pete already stretched from earlier that evening.  
  
  
“You take it so good, baby. So good.”  
  
  
Pete whimpers as Patrick angles his fingers, easily brushing past the spot that Pete wants him to hit more than anything. He grinds his ass down, fucking himself against Patrick’s hand as a third finger pushes past the ring of muscle. Patrick moves his fingers slowly, tortuously dragging them against that spot over and over. It lasts like that for a few minutes, their heavy breathing mingling with the sounds of car engines.  
  
  
“S-So close, Patrick. Please, I…”  
  
  
Pete's words come out in frantic pants and Patrick kisses him as he pulls his fingers out, wiping them haphazardly on the sheets. The older man lets out a choked sob at the loss of contact, the need to be whole and filled overwhelming. Patrick tears open a condom, biting his lip as he rolls it onto himself, eyes squeezing shut as Pete cups his jaw with his palm.  
  
  
Then he’s there, pressing against Pete's entrance and Pete is watching him, eyes knowing and weighted and ready. The bassist hisses at the slight burn as Patrick pushes forward until just the head of his cock is inside. Tears clump at the corner of his eyelashes and Patrick leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of Pete's ear.  
  
  
“It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”  
  
  
He hooks his arm under Pete's knees, lifting them till they’re wrapped tightly around his waist and thrusts forward in one firm stroke, pushing all the way inside. Pete curses loudly, eyes clamping shut as the burn mixes with the wave pleasure. Patrick bites on the inside of his cheek to stop from moaning, the taste of blood bitter in his mouth. They remain stationery for a moment; chests heaving against each other until eventually Pete eyes flutter open, locking with Patrick’s.  
  
“Okay, okay.”  
  
  
Then Patrick is moving, deep thrusts that have Pete sighing, warm puffs of air against Patrick’s skin. Pete rolls his hips, arching up whenever Patrick brushes that spot that has pleasure sparking inside him.  
  
  
 Pete feels the tears from before track down his cheeks. He wants to stay like this forever, in the heart of the city, with the boy he’s spent his whole life waiting for buried inside him and the whispered promises of love hanging in mid-air. He thinks if only he could find a way to keep them like this, caught in the tangle of sheets and sweat and skin and leisurely thrusts, like they have all the time in the world. If only they could have forever.  
  
Patrick's lips chase the tears away before dropping to bite at his shoulder, soothing the mark with his tongue. His hips are grinding against Pete's ass, panting into Pete's skin as he feels heels press into the curve of his back. Pete’s cock is leaking against his stomach and Patrick pulls away to meet his eyes as he curls a hand around the base.  
  
  
 Pete cries out at the contact, hips stuttering forward, pushing into the rough circle of the younger man’s hand. Pete knows Patrick is close. Knows in the way his previously well-timed thrusts become erratic. Knows in the way Patrick’s gaze meet his, a million unsaid words flitting across his eyes.  
  
It only lasts for a few more minutes, Patrick pushing into Pete as he strokes Pete's cock, twisting as he reaches the head before sliding back down. But then he thrusts hard and deep, once, twice and it’s over. Patrick arches his back, grinding his hips down as he pulses inside Pete, flashes of pleasure rippling through him as he rides his orgasm out. And Pete follows a second later, the sight of Patrick coming undone, knowing he made that happen, too much. His come spills across Patrick’s hand as Patrick strokes him through it and splatters up both their chests.  
  
Once he comes back down from the high, Patrick collapses against Pete's chest, waiting for his heart rate to slow. Once it has, he pulls out and Pete winces at the loss, missing the sensation of being filled and whole and wanted. He feels Patrick shuffling down his body but can’t find the energy to open his eyes an then there’s the wet heat of Patrick's tongue as it licks over Pete’s sensitive flesh, cleaning away the streaks of his come. The odler man hisses as Patrick's mouth curls around the head of his cock and the muscles in his abdomen twitch.  
  
  
When he’s finished cleaning up, Patrick presses their mouths together, letting Pete taste himself on the singer's tongue. Something deep inside Pete’s chest curls tightly and he reaches down to lace their fingers together, squeezing. The younger man pulls back, their noses brushing, and rests their foreheads together. There are still tears in Pete's eyes and Patrick ghosts his thumb over his eyelashes. The afterglow wraps around Pete, makes him bright in the darkness of the hotel room. Serenity washes through Patrick, makes his limbs feel weighted as they sink into the mattress.  
  
“The lights of the city have nothing on you.”  
  
  
Pete smiles at Patrick's words, presses them close to his heart and breaths in the smell of home and love. He doesn’t think of tomorrow or the secrets or the what-ifs. Pete thinks about the warmth of this boy and the promises of the city and the feeling of being alive. 


End file.
